Ansel didn't speak.
"There are only two things worth puttin' meself in danger for, and ye are one of them, understand?" Baldric stayed where he was for a moment, then drew back, though he stared into Ansel's eyes. "I will always be there for ye. Always."
"I… I understand," Ansel replied, shaken by the intensity of Baldric's promise. He had never felt so secure in the fact that he was cared for, and it unsettled him. "Same tae ye."
Baldric smiled, and the moment was broken. "I'd better go," he said. "Eat yer breakfast. I'll be back later tae check on ye."
He made for the door and opened it, but just before he left, Ansel said, "Wait!"
"Aye?" Baldric asked.
"What–what's the second thing? Ye said there were two things worth the danger, and I was one. What's the other?"
His cousin stared at him for a moment, then smiled again, more sadly this time. "Och, Ansel. I hope I can tell ye one day. I hope one day, ye'll be able tae understand."
Then, without another word, he slipped away.
Ansel woke up, gasping for air. His skin felt hot and clammy all at once, and for a little while, he could not tell where he was or even who he was. Was it still ten years ago, with Baldric by his side tending to his wounds? Or was it now, when he'd failed his father so catastrophically, and Neala was still so far away?
He struggled into a sitting position, his hands finding dampness as he pressed against his pillow to prop himself up. He must have been sweating all night. A fever. The world swam before his eyes, and nausea flared in his stomach. His head throbbed with a dull ache, and he couldn't understand why nothing would stand still.
The door opened with no knock, and a man walked in. Ansel forced himself to focus and saw Baldric approaching, his face pale and creased with worry. Baldric sat at the foot of his bed and pressed something into Ansel's hands.
"What…?" Ansel asked, his words slurred. "What is this…?"
"Elspeth asked me tae bring it tae ye. Ye must drink it," Baldric told him. "She says ye could die if ye dinnae."
Ansel blinked, trying to clear his head. Elspeth? The cook? He'd had fevers before, and they'd never killed him. What would a cook know?
"Please," Baldric urged. "Ansel, ye've been poisoned. Ye must drink."
The things Baldric was saying made no sense. Ansel wondered if it wouldn't be better just to lie down and sleep more. He was so, so tired. But something clicked in his dulled mind, and he frowned. "What… what do ye mean? How would she ken I was?"
Baldric hesitated, but it didn't matter. Something else connected inside Ansel's blurred brain like a shock of lightning jolting him back into consciousness. Had it not been Elspeth who had recommended Neala for the job? That was something Ansel had found out long after she was gone. How would a cook have known how to smuggle a White Sparrow into the kitchen's of the king's stronghold? Unless, unless…
It all made sense. Baldric's secret meetings for the last ten years. The way the rebels kept getting information, even now over a month after Neala had gone.
"She's… she's one of them!" Ansel groaned. "She's a Sparrow! A spy!"
"Aye," Baldric agreed. "She has been the whole time. I wanted tae tell ye sooner, I?—"
Ansel's head throbbed. "How long have ye kent?"
"Ten years. Ansel, I'll explain it all, I promise, but first yemustdrink," Baldric insisted. "Please."
"Nay!" Ansel's hand tightened on the little vial. "I cannae trust her. She wants tae kill me. They all want me dead."
Baldric leaned forward and grabbed Ansel's arm. "Ye dinnae need tae trust her. Trustme."
He wanted to. Ansel wanted to trust his cousin, his best friend, more than he'd ever wanted almost anything. But the poison was clouding his thoughts, and the fever was making it hard to think, and all he could understand was that Baldric had been lying to him for over a decade. Paranoia surged within him. What if it was just a fever and the vial itself was the poison? What if one of the only people he'd ever trusted had come here to send him to his death?
"Nay," Ansel murmured. It was getting harder to talk. "Nay."
Growling in frustration, Baldric dropped his arm and picked up the second thing he'd brought with him. It was a piece of paper, which he unfolded. "Maybe ye'll listen tae this, then."
Ansel lay back on the pillow, exhausted.
"Ansel," Baldric read. "Drink from the vial. I ken you will not trust Elspeth's word, though she says she has someone in the castle who may be able to convince you. If they can’t, then trust me. You spared my life, and now I'm saving yours."
